


Neville Longbottom and the Prisoner Who Lived

by toomanydishes



Series: It May Not Have Meant You at All [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Investigation, Maybe OOC, Mystery, Obsession, Past Torture, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanydishes/pseuds/toomanydishes
Summary: Part TWO of the It May Not Have Meant You At All seriesIt's Neville's fourth year of Hogwarts, and his second year of being properly friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. This year, Neville has to deal with a strange new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and with strange happenings involving one of the men convicted of torturing his parents.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter
Series: It May Not Have Meant You at All [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645321
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	1. The Burrow

For the most part, Neville didn’t know what to think about the Weasley’s.

He was spending a couple of nights at their house at Ron’s invitation, an invitation which had arrived unexpectedly a few days after Neville returned home from Hogwarts.

The first thing Neville noticed was how beautiful their house was. It was a bit run down, but it reminded him a lot of his own family house, with full gardens and beautiful views. He spent a bit of time upon arrival looking at all the plants they had and identifying them.

The family was great company too. Mr. Weasley was quaint and, frankly, obsessed with Muggles and their way of doing things without magic. Neville already knew Fred and George, famous for their Quidditch playing and legendary pranks. Ginny was a bit shy, but altogether incredibly funny. Although he had some qualms with Ron, he wasn’t the worst; he was kind enough to send an invitation to his home.

He was having a great time overall, glad to get away from Longbottom Hill for a bit. The only thing that made him feel uneasy was –

“Neville!” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen. “Good morning! Breakfast is ready!”

Neville woke up quite a bit later than Harry and Ron, with whom he was rooming during this little trip to the Burrow. The entire Weasley family (minus Bill and Charlie, Ron’s oldest brothers), Harry, Sirius, and Lupin, were all sitting around the crowded dinner table as Neville walked down the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley was the only one not sitting; she was making herself busy with the food and dishes and making sure everyone was taken care of.

It wasn’t that Neville thought _bad_ of Mrs. Weasley for her motherly instincts. It was just that Neville was just _incredibly_ uncomfortable with her smothering.

As Neville got to the last stair, Mrs. Weasley was already putting her hands onto Neville’s shoulders, guiding him to one of the two remaining open chairs next to Sirius.

The whole debacle with Peter Pettigrew the month before was still lingering over all their heads. Neville smiled awkwardly at Sirius, and Sirius smiled right back. The man seemed so much younger than Neville had seen him last. He guessed it was good for a man to be out of Azkaban for the first time in twelve years.

A plate of food was placed in front of him. Neville smiled and gently thanked Mrs. Weasley.

The thing was, he wouldn’t ever get _visibly_ frustrated at Mrs. Weasley for being the way she was. Inside, though was a different story. He just couldn’t get over the feeling of being _cared for._ Neville tried his hardest to keep his frustration under wraps, although he wasn’t too sure his facial expressions weren’t giving away his true feelings.

“’ey,” said Ron, mouth still full of food. He swallowed before continuing. “Wanna play some Quidditch when we’re done?”

A chorus of agreements sounded out across the table. As soon as each of them had finished eating, Ron, Harry, Fred, George, and Ginny all ran outside. Neville lagged behind, choosing to sit and watch at a picnic table at the edge of the yard.

The door to the Burrow opened behind Neville. He turned to see Sirius walking outside to join him in watching the other kids play.

Neville and Sirius sat in somewhat awkward silence with the noise of the others in the background. Neville decided to break the silence.

“So…” he started, not knowing what exactly to say. “How have things been?”

“Better,” Sirius sighed, “much better.”

“After this, Harry’s going to be living with you and Lupin, correct?”

“Yeah…” said Sirius almost dreamily. “I can’t wait.”

They sat in silence once more. Neville had something weighing on his chest, though. He was beyond scared to ask, but he desperately wanted to know what Sirius had experienced of _them_ in Azkaban. For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he wanted to know everything he could about the people who put his parents in the hospital.

Neville grew more restless as he stared absently at the other kids playing the game, until finally –

“You want to know about them, right?” asked Sirius.

Neville was practically bouncing at this point, and only just noticed how anxious his behavior was.

“Umm…”

“I know…” said Sirius. “I get it. You know, I was pretty good friends with your parents… We were all part of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Neville couldn’t tell if Sirius knew exactly who he wanted to know more about. He had heard plenty about his parents from his grandmother.

He processed what Sirius had just said and forced himself to respond. “What was the Order of the Phoenix?”

“It was an organization put together by Dumbledore,” Sirius explained, “in order to help fight against Voldemort when he was in his prime… Me, Lupin, your parents, Harry’s parents, they were all part of it…”

Sirius looked lost, staring blankly in front of him. Neville gave him space to think, not wanting to interrupt.

“Well,” said Sirius, finally seeming to bring himself out of his thoughts, “that was a long time ago. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to reform, but Dumbledore seems to think differently…”

“Huh?”

“He seems to think Voldemort is closer to rising than anyone else is guessing. Frankly, most people think the man is gone for good… but not Dumbledore. There’s been a recent disappearance… Bertha Jorkins, I knew her in school. Most people think she got herself lost, she’s known for not being the brightest, but Dumbledore thinks different…”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s how it started last time, too… when he came to power, mysterious disappearances, and Dumbledore thinks this might just be the start, same as last time…”

Neville thought about it as the other kids continued to play.

_Harry did tell us about that premonition made by Professor Trelawney…_

Late that night, when Ron had already gone to sleep, Harry and Neville were in the middle of a game of wizard chess in the Weasley’s living room.

“Guess what Sirius told me earlier?” said Neville as casually as possible while Harry thought about his next move.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“No!” _Maybe…_

Harry thought for a moment more, and finally made his move.

“What did Sirius tell you?” asked Harry.

Neville stared at the board for a moment, unsure what to do. He thought for a moment.

_If I move the knight… but then he can get to my queen…_

He thought a few moments more and made his move. One of the pawns forward.

“Well, he told me about this organization called the Order of the Phoenix… apparently your parents and my parents were part of it, along with Sirius and Lupin. It was created by Dumbledore to fight You- Know-Who.”

“Really?” said Harry. The boy had been startled out of his thoughts at the mention of his parents. “Wow…”

Harry moved. It was Neville’s turn.

Neville decided his only choice was to move his knight.

Harry moved his queen in front of Neville’s king.

“Checkmate.”

“Agh!” said Neville. “How are you so good at that?”

Harry shrugged. “Did Sirius tell you anything else?”

Neville didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell Harry about Dumbledore’s theory on Voldemort’s return. He decided to tell him anyways though.

“Hmm…” said Harry after Neville explained. “I just hope it isn’t soon…”

Neville sat in the incredibly soft chair in the Weasley’s living room and stared at the turning disc in awe and wonder for several minutes.

A voice came suddenly from beside him.

“ _Fascinating_ machine, isn’t it?”

Neville jumped and turned to see who had spoken. It was Mr. Weasley, who was now staring at the machine with the same awe Neville had felt just moments ago.

He returned his attention to the device. The machine seemed to be the source of a slow jazz song sounding out across the living room. Neville thought it might be sung by a Muggle …

_It’s quarter to three_

_There’s no one in the place_

_Except you and me…_

The woman singing had a wavy, beautiful voice. Neville felt like he could be put in a trance.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how it works for _ages_ ,” said Mr. Weasley. “Of all the Muggle inventions I’ve pulled apart and researched, the phonograph is the one that continues to perplex me most…”

Neville didn’t blame him. From the looks of it, there were tiny grooves in the black plate that spun around and around. There was a needle that went in the grooves…

But how did little grooves turn into such calming music?

_You’d never know it_

_But buddy, I’m a kind of a poet_

_And I’ve got a lot of things to say_

Mr. Weasley sat down in the chair next to Neville. They sat there for a while, listening to the music drone on, never taking their eyes off the phonograph…

_Well, that’s how it goes_

_And Joe I know you’re gettin’ anxious to close_

_So, thanks for the cheer_

_I hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear_

“Are you excited to get back to school, Neville?”

Neville nodded a bit. “Yeah. I’m sad, though, that Professor Lupin won’t be teaching us…”

“Sure, from what Ron’s told us, he was a great professor,” said Mr. Weasley. “But I happen to know you’re getting a right treat this upcoming year, Dumbledore just selected Lupin’s replacement.”

Neville looked away from the record in surprise.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah!” said Mr. Weasley. “You’re being taught by none other than Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody.”

“Oh,” said Neville, “yeah I’ve heard about him from my Gran.”

“As I understand it, he was Head of the Department of Aurors right around the time your parents joined the force.”

Neville didn’t respond. He returned his attention to the record player.

_Make it one for my baby_

_And one more for the road_

_That long, long road…_

_Screams rang out in the house… A high-pitched cackle mixed in…_

_“I have an idea,” said a gruff voice._

_Muttering above the crying. And then the same high-pitched laugh once more._

_“Imperio!”_

_The sound of someone being kicked repeatedly, and crying._

_Neville began to cry._

_“Stupid child!”_

_The sound of someone approaching the door…_

Neville awoke with a start, breathing hard. He sat up and put his face in his hands, letting himself just breathe for a moment. For some odd reason, he didn’t feel like crying.

Neville had been having these dreams ever since the night they had proven Sirius’s innocence. He still couldn’t believe what he had seen when the dementors came near…

_How come I didn’t see this the first two times the dementors came near? Was it hidden in my memory?_

_Was I really in the house when it happened?_

An agitation had begun to fill him as he sat still in the bed. It was almost overwhelming; an odd clenching in his chest that he couldn’t get rid of.

He couldn’t resist the urge to move. He had to get up and do something. As quietly as possible, he got out of the bed and snuck to the door.

Stepping lightly down the stairs, Neville looked around and listened hard for any movement around the house. He wasn’t sure of the time; anyone could be awake. As he passed Fred and George’s room, he heard quiet talking behind their door.

_Scheming, probably._

Neville continued down the steps, stopping every few to make sure he wasn’t waking anyone up.

Finally, he reached the ground floor, where no one had a bedroom and he could a little less cautious. He scoured through the cabinets looking for a glass. When he finally found one (with flowers painted on it), he went to the sink and poured himself some water.

In the process of going downstairs and getting water, he managed to forget for a moment why he was even awake in the first place. It threatened to return, but Neville forcefully shoved it to a dark corner in his mind, to be avoided. He looked around the kitchen, welcoming any kind of distraction.

“Neville?” came a soft, kind voice near the stairs.

He jumped, spilling water all over his shirt. How Neville managed to not hear someone coming down the stairs was beyond him. He turned his head toward the stairs to find Mrs. Weasley standing at the bottom.

“Hey, Mrs. Weasley,” he said meekly. “Sorry if I woke you, I just came down for some water.”

“No problem at all, I was already awake,” said Mrs. Weasley.

She moved closer to him and grabbed her own glass to fill. She turned to him.

“I’m sorry if Ron woke you, he’s a bit of a snorer,” she said.

“Not at all, Mrs. Weasley,” Neville replied. “I just couldn’t sleep…”

“I understand,” she said sympathetically. “After having seven children, it practically becomes habit to wake up at three in the morning.”

“Is that the time?” asked Neville, surprised.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley.

There was a pause, during which they both took sips of water.

“Anything bothering you, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley gently.

“Ah, no,” said Neville.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him for a long moment.

“Alright, dear, if you say so,” she said finally. “Better drink that up and get to bed.”

She patted him on the shoulder and moved to climb back up the stairs. Neville watched after her. He supposed Mrs. Weasley wasn’t so bad after all.

He quickly tried to finish his water; he was, in fact, getting tired.

When he reached Ron’s room, he tried very hard to be as silent as possible. He believed he had managed it right up until he heard a quiet whisper in the room.

“Neville?”

Now sat up in his bed and about to lay down, Neville froze.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Neville assumed it was Harry, as Ron’s snores continued to fill the room.

“Yeah, just went to get some water.”

“Alright…” said Harry. “Good night, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Neville. “Good night.”


	2. Professor Moody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville's first thoughts on Professor Moody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is structured a bit different. I thought it made more sense to have a chapter totally dedicated to Neville's thoughts on Professor Moody because, well, you know.
> 
> Another note:  
> I decided to start using 'wix/wixen' as a gender neutral term for people with magic. I found it used in the fanfic series on AO3, Ut Malis Melior by MissjuliaMiriam, who, in turn, found the term in a fanfic by AO3 author darkseraphina. I just thought it was a really good term.

When Professor Moody first showed up at Hogwarts, bursting through the doors of the Great Hall while Professor Dumbledore was making his beginning-of-the-year speech, Neville didn’t know what to think. As lightning struck from the ceiling, Neville saw the man’s electric blue, constantly moving eye where his normal right eye would have been. He had the face of a man who was battle-hardened, littered with scars. He kept on taking swigs from a hip flask. Neville wondered for a moment what exactly the man kept in that flask. As Neville stared at the strange man, the constantly moving blue eye seemed to land on him more than once.

“Moody?” whispered Harry next to him. “ _Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?”

Neville turned his attention to the conversation.

“Must be,” said Ron, awe apparent in his quiet voice.

“What happened to him?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to his _face_?”

Neville elected to remain silent.

“Dunno,” Ron whispered back.

Neville turned to look at Dean and Seamus, both of whom were staring with awe at the man who now sat at the teacher’s table.

Neville himself had heard many tales of Mad-Eye Moody. Gran absolutely idolized the man. But this was his first time seeing him in the flesh. Now that he was looking, he could understand why Gran would be so fascinated by him. Clearly, Moody had been in many battles as an Auror. According to Gran, he was in his prime the same time Neville’s parents had joined the Aurors. Neville wondered if the man had been part of the Order of the Phoenix Sirius had described to him. He wouldn’t be at all surprised.

As classes began, rumors of Moody’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class started to spread. The man was getting the same kind of admiration that Lupin had received at the beginning of their third year. Neville could only hope the man was as kind as Professor Lupin had been, however, something like intuition told him that wouldn’t be the case.

Neville didn’t know what to think of Moody when the man turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret before his very eyes.

In the queue for dinner, Malfoy decided to provoke Harry and Ron, which resulted in insults flying and, eventually, wands being drawn. Neville noticed Malfoy was about to attack Harry when his back was turned. He raised his own wand to defend Harry, but he was too late.

_BANG!_

The spell barely missed Harry. Neville was about to Stupefy Malfoy, but someone got to him first.

Another _bang_ , and there was a white ferret in the exact place Malfoy used to be. In another second, the creature was being bounced up and down by Professor Moody’s wand.

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,” said Moody as the ferret who was once Malfoy bounced higher and higher. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…”

The ferret flopped helplessly in the air.

“Never – do – that – again –“ said Moody, timing each word with each time the ferret hit the ground.

Neville didn’t care that the ferret had been Malfoy; he was completely stunned. He was half a second away from grabbing Moody’s wand arm and stopping the man when a voice rang out in the entrance hall.

“Professor Moody!” said a shocked Professor McGonagall, standing in the middle of the stairs in the entrance hall with an armful of books.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly as he continued to bounce the ferret up and down.

“What – what are you doing?” said McGonagall, her eyes following the ferret.

“Teaching,” said Moody plainly.

The ferret continued to hit the ground with repeated thuds. Neville felt the tension in his chest building.

“Teach – Moody, _is that a student?_ ” said Professor McGonagall, dropping her books to the ground.

“Yep,” said Moody

“No!” cried McGonagall.

She pulled out her wand and transformed the ferret back into a heap Neville recognized as Malfoy. He was wincing, eyes watering. Neville let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Moody, we _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?”

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody with no air of concern, “but I thought a good sharp shock –“

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”

“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, looking at Malfoy with great dislike.

Moody dragged Malfoy away to Professor Snape’s office, muttering about Snape and Draco’s father the whole way.

“Don’t talk to me,” said Ron suddenly as they sat down at the Gryffindor table in their usual arrangement.

“Why not?” asked Hermione in surprise.

“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, with closed eyes and a look of pure joy on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret…”

Harry, Hermione, Seamus and Dean all laughed. Neville remained silent.

“He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” said Hermione. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it –“

“Hermione!” said Ron almost furiously. “You’re ruining the best moment of my life!”

Neville could still hear the repeated thuds of the ferret hitting the ground, could still see Malfoy’s pained face when he was transformed back. He didn’t say another word the rest of dinner.

Neville did _not_ know what to think of Mad-Eye Moody after his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the man.

“You can put those away,” growled Moody as he walked in the classroom just past the bell, “those books. You won’t need them.”

Slowly, the class returned their books to their bags.

Moody took out a paper and began calling out names, the electric-blue eye fixing on each student as each of them answered. Neville watched the eye as it rapidly turned.

“Longbottom, Neville!”

“Here,” said Neville timidly.

The unblinking eye settled on him. He felt a chill down his spine.

“Right, then,” he said as he finished the last of the names, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures – you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?”

There were murmurs of assent and some nodding of heads across the classroom.

“But you’re behind – very behind – on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “So, I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark –“

“What, aren’t you staying?” blurted Ron.

The blue eye fixed on Ron for a moment, and then Moody broke into the first real smile Neville had ever seen him make. It looked strange amongst all the scars on his face.

“You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?” said Moody. “Your father helped me out of a very tight corner a few days ago… Yeah I’m staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore… One year, and then back to my quiet retirement.”

He laughed, though it sounded more like a bark, and then clapped his hands together.

“So – straight to it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Dumbledore’s got higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope –“

Neville’s blood had gone cold as the teacher spoke. He turned his head downwards, suddenly very interested in the wooden pattern.

“- and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen?”

_I’ve seen enough, thanks._

“A wizard that’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking.”

Neville glanced back at Lavender Brown in an attempt to avoid thinking about what exactly this lesson would be about.

Gran had explained it to him. How exactly his parents had been tortured. Using the Cruciatus Curse, one of the darkest curses a wixen could use. It was illegal to perform on another human being, which was why _they_ were in Azkaban. Neville had a feeling this lesson wouldn’t go well for him.

“So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”

Several hands rose in the air. Neville’s wasn’t one of them. Moody chose Ron.

“Er,” said Ron tentatively, “my dad told me about one… Is it the Imperius Curse, or something?”

“Ah, yes,” said Moody. “Your father _would_ know about that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.”

Moody proceeded to take a spider out of a jar on his desk and demonstrate the curse for the whole class to see. The class was laughing at the spider’s dancing, but Neville knew better. He knew the horrible length to which this spell could be used. He thought of his nightmares and shivered.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” said Moody, reflecting Neville’s sentiment. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?”

The laughter died away almost immediately.

Moody continued to talk as Neville, not hearing anything, watched the spider. The spider balled up and rolled around. It darted across the room, dangling above a jar of water by its own web.

“The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILENCE!” barked Moody suddenly. Neville’s heartbeat spiked in his chest. He suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted a whole year of classes with this man.

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?”

Several hands rose, and he was stunned to find his own hand among them. Immediately, his heartbeat became faster in his chest.

“Yes?” said Moody, his blue eye fixing on Neville once more. Again, Neville felt a shiver down his spine.

“Th-there’s one – the Cruciatus Curse,” said Neville, almost whispering. He felt the eyes of all his classmates on him. Neville stared resolutely at the chalkboard, trying to control his breathing.

“Your name’s Longbottom?” said Moody quietly.

Neville nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the chalkboard. Moody reached into the same jar and grabbed another spider.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea.”

_Please, no…_

Moody raised his wand, pointed it at the spider, and said quietly, “ _Crucio!_ ”

Without his say-so, Neville’s eyes moved down to the spider. It was twitching and convulsing horribly. Neville thought about the nightmare… how his parents must have looked as _they_ used the spell on them.

“Stop it!” said two voices suddenly.

Neville, who hadn’t realized his eyes were closed now, opened them to see Harry and Hermione both looking at Neville with pure concern written all over their faces. Neville hardly noticed that his fists and teeth had been clenched until he tried to relax them.

Moody had already ceased the curse, reduced the size of the spider, and returned it to the jar.

“Pain,” said Moody softly. “you don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too.”

“Right… anyone know any others?”

The man killed a spider using the Killing Curse, right in front of them. But Neville was hardly paying attention at that point. He resumed staring at the chalkboard until class was dismissed. He had an idea what he was in for, but it didn’t dull the shock of seeing _that spell_ performed in front of him for the first time.

Neville had no idea what to think when he was invited to drink tea with Professor Moody after their first lesson.

“Neville?” came a gentle voice from behind him.

Neville turned his head, having been sitting on a bench outside the classroom, staring at the brick wall in front of him as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. It was Hermione who had spoken, and Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Ron were all with her as well.

“Oh hello,” said Neville, knowing his voice was higher than normal due to the tightness in his throat, but not really caring. “Interesting lesson, wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for dinner, I’m – I’m starving, aren’t you?”

Neville didn’t know what he was saying or why, anymore. Frankly, he wanted his friends to go away.

“Neville, are you alright?” said Hermione.

“Oh yes I’m fine,” Neville tried to continue naturally. “Very interesting dinner – I mean lesson – what’s for eating?”

Dean and Seamus made immediate moves to sit next to Neville, Dean reaching around to give Neville a side hug.

Neville immediately stood up, not wanting any kind of physical contact at the moment.

The clunking sound of Professor Moody’s wooden leg sounded out. If Neville didn’t want the company of his friends right now, he _definitely_ didn’t want the company of the man who put him in this state in the first place.

Dean and Seamus stood almost defensively between him and Moody. Neville would have been touched if he wasn’t still in a state of shock

“It’s alright sonny,” said Moody in a quiet growl. “Why don’t you come up to my office? Come on… we can have a cup of tea…”

Neville froze, having no idea what to say. Moody’s attention turned to Harry.

“You all right, are you, Potter?”

“Yes,” said Harry, a defiant tone in his voice.

Moody paused. “You’ve got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, _but you’ve got to know._ No point pretending… well… come on, Longbottom, I’ve got some books that might interest you.”

Neville would literally do _anything_ else, but he was soon steered away by Moody’s forceful grip. They went all the way back to the Defense classroom.

As soon as they reached the classroom, Neville was sat down by Moody’s hand. Neville looked around. He remembered all the times he spent learning defensive spells with Harry at the instruction of Professor Lupin. He _dearly_ missed Professor Lupin right now.

Moody turned to stand in front of him, looking at Neville’s face for a few moments. He turned around suddenly and began grabbing the necessary tools to make tea.

“Professor Sprout tells me you’re excellent in Herbology, Longbottom.”

Neville nodded silently.

“Well, sonny, I thought you might like this,” said Moody, as he presented Neville with a book. Neville took hold of it, and noted the title, _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean._

Neville appreciated the gesture but couldn’t help but feel this was out of the blue.

“Thank you, sir…”

Moody poured Neville a cup of tea. Neville looked at it warily as Moody placed the cup in front of him.

“Professor Lupin also informed me the you’ve been privately instructed in defensive spells… says you had quite an aptitude for it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Neville.

“You own any Dark Detectors, son?” asked Moody.

“Yes, sir, a few,” said Neville quietly.

“Very good,” said Moody approvingly. “You see, I’ve got quite the collection…”

Moody gestured toward a mirror on the wall.

“Foe-Glass. See those people in there… I’m not in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes.”

He gestured toward a squiggly golden antenna.

“Secrecy Sensor. It vibrates when it detects secrecy and lies… No use in a school, though, with students all over, lying about homework.”

They sat in silence. Neville looked at the devices all around, wondering if he would one day collect that many Dark Detectors.

“I understand, Longbottom,” said Professor Moody suddenly, almost gently. “But, as I said before, _you’ve got to know_.”

“I do know, Professor,” said Neville simply.

Silence.

“Alright, Neville. It was nice having tea, but you better get going to your common room.”

Neville quietly thanked the professor. He grabbed the book, and left the table, tea untouched.

Neville didn’t know what to think when, in their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Professor Moody actually subjected _each student_ to the Imperius Curse.

Under its influence, Dean hopped around the classroom singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown did an impressive imitation of a squirrel. Seamus did his own imitation of a chicken.

It was suddenly Neville’s turn. He stood in front of the professor, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“ _Imperio!_ ”

Neville felt all his worries melt away. He didn’t need to do anything, he wasn’t thinking of horrible things; in fact, he wasn’t thinking much of anything…

A voice came echoing from somewhere in his mind… he didn’t recognize it…

_Do a cartwheel… come on, do a cartwheel…_

Neville put his arms up, and proceeded to do a cartwheel.

A distant part of his brain spoke up. _How did I do that…?_

The other voice spoke again. _Do a backflip…_

His mind was thoroughly confused. _But I can’t…_

Neville bent his knees to try and do a backflip…

But something in his brain revolted.

Next thing Neville knew, he was on his back, head aching horribly, staring at the ceiling of the Defense classroom.

“That’s more like it, Longbottom!” yelled Moody, now standing above Neville and offering a hand up.

Neville smiled weak. It took him a few seconds to understand exactly what had happened.

The only other person able to fight the curse was Harry. Professor Moody insisted on subjecting Neville and Harry to the Imperius Curse several more times to see if they could throw it off again. Neville, thoroughly confused and in pain, was unable to repeat what he had done before. It was nice to just let his brain succumb to the voice.

Neville was lying awake in his bed that night, unable to sleep. His nightmares had gotten worse ever since his first lesson with Moody. He didn’t _want_ to go to sleep. He didn’t want to see his parents being tortured another night.

He felt a tension in his chest snap. He had to get up walk around. At least for a little bit.

There was a water jug in one of the windowsills. He grabbed one of the cups set out by the house elves and filled it with water. He quietly sipped as he sat in the windowsill.

He turned his head to get a better look at the stars through the window. He could see the moon – it was full. He wondered how Professor Lupin was doing.

Professor Lupin had always been so understanding. He had even been willing to give Harry and Neville extra lessons in Defense when it wasn’t strictly needed or necessary. Before his third year, Neville had been honestly convinced that he was supposed to be a Squib. After taking lessons with Lupin, however, he realized he had actual magical potential. He had even been able to fight off the Imperius Curse. He still didn’t know how he did it, but he definitely did. That wasn’t because of Moody, that was all Professor Lupin.

Despite all this, Neville still didn’t know what to think.


	3. Bartemius Crouch Senior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville learns something intriguing about the conviction of his parent's torturers

“Neville, can I interest you in the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?”

Neville looked up from his Transfiguration homework. Hermione was stood across the coffee table he had been working on, holding a lidded box.

“Umm…”

“Our manifesto is ‘Stop the Outrageous Abuse of our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in their Legal Status’. Our short term goals are to secure house elves fair wages and working conditions. Long term, our goals include changing the law forbidding house elves from using wands, and trying to get an elf into the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Would you care to join? It’s two Sickles, you get a badge!”

Neville took a moment to process this. His Gran actually had a house elf, to whom Neville was sort of attached. They were curious little creatures, who’s culture was one of dedication to serving wizards. Neville knew from experience that an attempt to free them was a terrible insult.

He was a sucker though and searched his pockets for two Sickles.

“What caused you to start all this?” he asked.

“Well,” said Hermione. “When we went to the Quidditch World Cup, I saw the terrible way Mr. Crouch treated his house elf, Winky. He fired her even though she didn’t conjure the Dark Mark after the game!” She got louder with each word she said.

Neville couldn’t quite follow but nodded anyways. It was clear that Hermione was enraged by the event in question.

“Wizards treat house elves as though they aren’t equal! As if they don’t have feelings or consciousness!”

Neville actually agreed with Hermione. The few times he and his grandmother visited other people’s houses, Neville always felt uneasy with how wixen would treat their own house elves. Neville, for the most part, often found joy in spending time with house elves, especially as a child, since he never really had anyone else to play with.

“Hermione, it’s not that I don’t agree with you… I actually –“

“So you agree with the use of slave labor?”

“I didn’t say that. All I mean is that it truly is a terrible insult to let a house elf free… I almost gave clothes to my Gran’s house elf once…”

“But their _brainwashed!_ They don’t know any better!”

“All I’m saying, Hermione, is that I agree that house elves should have protections against abuse and should have basic human rights. I mean, that would be a great place to start!”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, okay. Are you going to help me, then?”

“Sure,” said Neville, feeling bad at the idea of saying ‘no’.

“Now,” said Professor Moody with a clap of his hands, “today we will be going more in-depth on the Cruciatus Curse.”

_Great._

“The curse, like the other two Unforgivables, has been around for as long as Dark Magic has been around. That is to say, as long as magic has been around. As with other spells in general, there are many several ways to perform the curse, several different incantations for several different languages created at different times. The one I demonstrated for you, with the incantation _crucio,_ was invented in the Middle Ages somewhere in southern Europe. All the different versions of the spell generally do the same thing. That is, cause an unbelievable amount of pain to the unfortunate person who happens to be on the end of it.”

Neville wondered morbidly, not for the first time, how it felt to be on the end of such a curse.

“You may very well be on the end of it one day,” said Moody, seeming to read Neville’s thoughts. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it. The Dark Lord may be defeated,” Neville noted he didn’t say “dead”, “but his followers are still crawling all over. In any case, there could always be a new You-Know-Who. Dark wizards have always existed and will continue to exist. CONSTANT VIGILENCE!”

Neville jumped. He honestly hated when Moody did that.

“It was deemed by the British Ministry of Magic to be unforgivable, long with the Imperius Curse and the Killing Curse, in 1717. After that, the use of any of the three curses resulted in a life sentence to Azkaban, unless there was proof of the castor being under the influence of the Imperius Curse themselves.”

Neville found his eyes back on the chalkboard. It seemed that doing so helped him calm down and focus on objectivity

“As for how to _defend_ yourself against the Cruciatus Curse,” continued Moody, “that is a bit more complicated. You can’t exactly use willpower, as you did for the Imperius Curse. Defending against this curse is entirely about prevention. Once the curse has been sent, I’d like to make this clear, there is _no magic_ you can use to defend against it. You can, if possible, hide behind a solid object or attempt to interrupt the castor as they say the incantation. If they are using the spell nonverbally, however, this method is of little use.”

The whole classroom, at this point, was fairly subdued.

“There have been…” Moody’s blue eye settled on Neville, “fairly popular instances of this curse being used on people very capable of defending themselves, especially during the last Wizarding War.”

Neville stared at the chalkboard.

“I won’t go into detail. If you’re really that curious, look it up yourself. The point is nobody is invulnerable to this curse, not _me,_ not _you_ \- _nobody.”_

The room was silent for a moment.

Moody lowered his voice and said solemnly, punctuating each word, “Constant vigilance.”

Neville looked around at the classroom as subtly as he could. Hermione was turned around and staring at him with an almost horrified look on her face.

Classes had become much more difficult than last year. Professor McGonagall informed them that it was because O.W.L’s were coming up next year. Neville, however, got the idea that it was also the upcoming arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that resulted in professors pushing their students harder than usual.

“Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall after a particularly rough lesson, “kindly do _not_ reveal that you can’t even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!”

Neville sat, frustrated, having just gotten his ear reattached to his head, and thought that he _had_ genuinely gotten more confident in his magical abilities. Charms was good, Defense Against the Dark Arts was even better, and Herbology was great. What consistently stumped him was Potions and Transfiguration.

Potions was becoming nothing short of terrifying. Professor Snape had begun teaching the class about antidotes and had actually been _threatening_ the class with poison to see if their antidotes actually worked. Neville felt like there had to be some kind of rule against harming the students like that.

With the difficulty in classes rising, and Snape’s threat looming over their heads, Neville began spending a lot of time with Hermione once more. Hermione was much less stressed out than last year and so was able to help him with Potions and Transfiguration when he needed it.

“Hermione, could you help me with Switching Spells?”

They were in the library, Hermione working on Ancient Runes and Neville working on the extra homework Professor McGonagall had assigned him after the unfortunate Switching Spells lesson.

“Of course, what’s the problem?”

“Well, you saw, I transplanted my ear onto a cactus.”

“Were you properly focusing on the objects you intended on switching?”

“I did!” said Neville in frustration. “At least, I _thought_ I did…”

“ _How_ were you thinking of them?” asked Hermione.

“I guess I would just think of the cactus and the jar of honey in turns?”

“Okay…” said Hermione. “So I think of it differently. In my mind, I say ‘cactus for jar, jar for cactus.’ Its more about concentrating on _switching_ the two, not necessarily on just the objects. Does that make sense?”

Neville nodded tentatively. “I think so…”

“Here,” said Hermione, setting her quill down and rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a beautifully embroidered bookmark.

“Try switching the quill and the bookmark.”

Neville looked at the two objects and thought about switching the two.

_Quill for bookmark, bookmark for quill…_

He pointed his wand at the quill and said the incantation, “ _Restituo!_ ”

In a small flash, the quill had moved three inches left to where the bookmark had been, and Neville was now pointing at the bookmark, where the quill had been.

Neville looked up smiling. “I did it!”

Hermione was smiling too. “I knew you could.”

Hermione’s smiled fell from her face, as though she had just remembered something unpleasant.

“Neville?” she said quietly.

Neville looked up at her face, confused at how suddenly her face had turned somber.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Your parents –“ she paused, as though trying to find the right words. “Your parents are Frank and Alice Longbottom, aren’t they?”

Neville’s smile had long slipped from his face. Looked down at the table, and figured he probably couldn’t lie even if he wanted to.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry, Neville,” she said. “I had no idea…”

“It’s okay, Hermione, I mean it’s not _your_ fault what happened to them.”

There was a sad pause.

“How’d you figure it out?” asked Neville.

“Well, I read _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ over the summer… I read their names but I didn’t even want to think that they could have been closely related to you… But then I remembered how you and Harry both reacted to the dementors, and then we had those lessons with Professor Moody, and I kind of put the pieces together…”

A silence fell over them again.

_TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT_

_The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30 th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet out guests before the Welcoming Feast._

“I wonder what it’s going to be like around here with the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students?” asked Dean.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville were sat on Dean’s bed; Seamus and Dean were both sat against the headboard quite close to one another. Neville sat cross-legged in front of them.

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students would be arriving the next day. The most exciting part for Neville was the fact that their Potions lesson would be cut short.

“Where will they live? That what I’m wondering…” said Seamus.

Neville wasn’t paying attention, thinking more about the essay for Moody he had just turned in.

“How do you think you did on the essay?” said Neville, feeling antsy.

“What essay?” asked Seamus.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts! I feel like I didn’t quite get it…”

“Come on Neville,” said Seamus. “Ever since you started hanging out with Hermione you’ve been more obsessed with your grades. I’m sure you did fine!”

Neville didn’t respond, continuing to feel agitated.

“Speaking of Professor Moody, did I tell you what he told me?” said Seamus.

“About the witch who said ‘boo’ behind him? Yeah, Sea, you told us,” said Dean exasperatedly.

“Seriously!” said Seamus. “She was in St. Mungo’s for a week!”

“Mmm,” hummed Dean.

Neville yawned and figured it was time to go to bed. He voiced his thoughts and got up to find his pajamas.

He began to wonder himself about the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. He figured he probably wouldn’t have to deal with them much, and the subject quickly slipped his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, standing at the front of the Great Hall, speaking not only to Hogwarts students, but to the recently arrived Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students as well. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation, before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation –“

Neville moved his head with a start to look intently at the newcomers to the Great Hall. There was a pause in Dumbledore’s speech to allow for polite applause. Neville tried to figure out which one was _Crouch_ , but none of the newcomers at the head table stood or raised a hand.

“- and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

At this, a man waved his hand, a short pudgy man wearing a colorful outfit. Neville knew from the earlier entrances of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that the extremely large woman and the man with the unkind face were the headmasters of those schools. That left one new man at the table. A man with severely greying hair, a stern face, and a toothbrush mustache.

_That must be Bartemius Crouch._

Neville has heard the man’s name so many times, both in his head and from his grandmother.

_Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Bartemius Crouch Jr._

He was so shocked, wondering for a moment how the man was even _alive_ before realizing that this must be Bartemius Crouch _Senior._

Neville took a good look at the man’s face. It was hollowed and sickly, as though he was under a terrible amount of stress. Neville wondered what exactly had turned the man so pale and skeletal.

_The_ father _of Bartemius Crouch Junior is in the school, I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, he just happens to also be Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation… Did Gran ever talk about him? Maybe she mentioned him when she talked about the trial? She was there, wasn’t she? Since he’s part of the Ministry he may have been involved…_

“Would you?” asked Seamus.

Neville shook himself out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Would you enter yourself?” said Seamus. “In the tournament?”

Honestly, that was the last thing Neville was thinking about at the moment.

“No, no way. What’s the point? We’re too young anyways,” said Neville.

When they reached the common room, Dean, Seamus and Neville went to their usual corner to sit in and Dean and Seamus continued to discuss the Tournament.

“What’s up, Neville?” said Dean, ever perceptive.

“Nothing…” said Neville. “You know that stern man sat in the front? Mr. Crouch?”

“Well,” said Dean, “I mean I wasn’t paying much attention to him, wasn’t I? More focused on the Goblet of Fire.”

Neville said no more but continued to think. He wondered if there might be a book on the subject…

“I’ll see you two later, yeah?” said Neville, leaving before either could respond. He moved quickly over to the portrait hole and climbed out, headed for the library.

The hallways were dark, it was likely getting close to curfew, but Neville felt like he _had_ to find out more about _them._ His mind was racing, wondering how closely they followed You-Know-Who, how many people they might have dealt a similar fate. He wondered about the trial, he wondered why the son of a respected Ministry of Magic employee would turn to the Dark side the way Bartemius Crouch Junior did.

Neville scoured through the history section of the library for titles with “dark arts” and-or “Voldemort” included, preferring the most recent looking volumes. He even found the one Hermione had mentioned before, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts._ He checked out as many promising books as he could carry and walked back to his dorm room. When he got there, he threw the books on the bed and shut his curtains, wanting to comb through them that night.

In all the books Neville had searched, he found consistent reference to his own parents and the four Death-Eaters convicted of torturing them. They all listed the names –

_Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Bartemius Crouch Jr._

But only one, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ coincidentally, mentioned the person who sentenced them to Azkaban.

None other than _Bartemius Crouch Senior_.

He had wondered what made the man look so hallowed and skeletal at the Welcoming Feast. He now had an idea why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters are going to be fairly linear, rather than the way I did the Moody chapter. I was going to do this story much differently than the first, but after writing some it occurred to me that would be a bit to fast paced.
> 
> I got the incantation for the Switching Spell, Restituo, from the website "Hogwarts is Here" in their library section (specifically, this copy of the "A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration", http://www.hogwartsishere.com/library/book/6864/chapter/9/ )  
> I used this because there was no given canon incantation for the spell and, you know, I needed one.


	4. The Triwizard Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville gets into doing family research while Harry is chosen as a Triwizard champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long haha, was having trouble getting it to a point where it flowed well. Hope you guys like it!

Neville spared glances toward Bartemius Crouch Senior more often than was socially appropriate while Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons students all listened to Professor Dumbledore announce the Triwizard champions. He desperately wanted to get a read on the man. He hadn’t been able to find an opportunity to try and research the man, like he wanted to. The library was long closed by the time he found out about his involvement in the trial, and their full day of classes, plus the announcement of the Triwizard Champions, had prevented Neville from trying to go to the library.

Neville barely paid attention to the announcement of each champion, continuing to analyze Mr. Crouch, right up until –

“ _Harry Potter,_ ” Dumbledore announced, reading the singed paper that had erupted from the Goblet of Fire unexpectedly moments before.

Neville was shocked to say the least. Not nearly as shocked, though, as Harry _looked._

After Harry reluctantly stood up to walk toward Dumbledore, Seamus immediately began whispering.

“How did he enter himself? Even Fred and George weren’t able to do it…”

Neville, trying to get over the shock, wondered the same.

Dumbledore stood there for a moment, as though he might have been in shock as well, before announcing.

“Prefects, Head Boy and Girl, make sure all the students get back to their common rooms. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students may stay here until their headmasters are through with discussion.”

The Gryffindor common room was in complete commotion the moment people arrived from the Great Hall. Neville stayed with Hermione the whole way back to the dormitories and sat toward the edge of the room with her, waiting for Harry to walk in.

“Did he really enter himself?” asked Neville, figuring Hermione would likely know.

“I seriously doubt it,” said Hermione gravely. “It seems like someone tricked the Goblet of Fire into taking Harry’s name…”

A few nervous minutes passed. Neville barely saw the portrait door open over the heads of all the people, and a great roar came from the crowd. Assuming it was Harry, Neville and Hermione stood up in an attempt to find the boy.

They didn’t have to push their way through the crowd for long before finding a very harassed-looking Harry being showered in congratulations and questions. Neville quickly grabbed Harry and dragged him out of the crowd to go up to the dorm room.

“Oh, thank you, Neville,” said Harry when they reached the room. Hermione walked in behind them. “I thought I’d never get out.”

“Yeah,” said Neville. “Did you really put yourself in for the Triwizard Tournament?”

“No,” said Harry, walking to his bed and sitting down, putting his head in his hands. “I have no idea who did it either,” he said frustratedly.

The door opened and Ron walked in to see Harry sat down and Neville and Hermione surrounding him.

“Oh, hello,” said Ron simply.

Immediately, Neville could tell something was off. Ron had an oddly strained grin on his face. He began busying himself with getting his robes off. Neville, Hermione, and Harry were all looking at him as though he were a particularly strange looking Blast-Ended Skrewt.

“So,” said Ron. “Congratulations.”

“What d’you mean, congratulations?” said Harry defensively.

“Well… no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use – the Invisibility Cloak?”

Neville and Hermione’s incredulous voices both rang out in the room at once.

“He didn’t enter himself!”

“He didn’t put his name in!”

There was a short pause.

“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn’t have gotten me over that line,” said Harry.

Ron stared at them, his face becoming stonier by the second.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Ron.

Neville and Hermione looked at each other. Harry stood up.

“Listen,” said Harry. “I didn’t put my name in that goblet. Someone else must’ve done it.”

It was Ron’s turn to look incredulous.

“What would they do that for?”

Harry paused a moment. “I dunno.”

Ron’s eyebrows were raised incredibly high.

“It’s okay, you know, you can tell _us_ the truth, right?” said Ron, indicating toward Neville and Hermione. “If you don’t want everyone else to know, fine, but I don’t know why you’re bothering to lie, you didn’t get in trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady’s, Violet, she’s already told us all Dumbledore’s letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don’t have to do end of year tests either…”

Harry looked angry now. “I didn’t put my name in that Goblet!” he said.

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron. He looked at the other two, who were gob-smacked at the interaction taking place.

“You believe him?” said Ron, his voice getting high at the end.

Hermione and Neville slowly nodded.

“Fine,” said Ron. “I’m happy for the three of you.”

Ron threw himself into his bed and shut the curtains fast, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Neville to look amongst each other in disbelief.

Neville’s attention to research was stolen away for a few days to worry about Harry, who was now, quite possibly, one of the most disliked kids in the school. It seemed only Neville and Hermione, out of all the students in the school, believed Harry when he said he hadn’t entered himself in the tournament.

The Hufflepuffs, known for being friendly and forgiving, were behaving cold toward Harry. It seemed they believed he had stolen the spotlight from Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff who was the first Hogwarts champion announced.

The Hufflepuffs feelings were apparent after their next Herbology lesson, which the Gryffindors had with the Hufflepuffs. They were repotting Bouncing Bulbs, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, both Hufflepuffs, on one side of their shared tray and Harry and Neville on the other side. The four of them would often talk to each other during the lesson, Neville often being asked by the other three for assistance. The two Hufflepuffs, however, flat out ignored the both of them. They did, however, laugh rather nastily when Harry didn’t grip his Bouncing Bulb tight enough and the plant wiggled free and smacked him in the face.

“Here,” said Neville, making sure to keep a firm one-handed grip on his own bulb and grabbing Harry’s with his free hand. Quietly, Neville handed Harry the bulb.

“Thanks,” said Harry rather sulkily. Neville didn’t blame him for feeling tense.

Ron seemed to agree with the Hufflepuffs, however. It seemed to Neville that he was being very unfair about the whole thing. Neville tried to understand; the way Hermione had explained it the next morning, “Oh, isn’t it obvious? He’s _jealous!”_

Neville didn’t quite empathize with Ron, but he understood logically that having five brothers, all of whom were successful in their own right, as well as an incredibly famous best friend, tended to make a kid easily jealous. Neville didn’t exactly have that issue, what with having no siblings to try and be better than. What’s more, even though he felt a certain need to prove himself, his own idea of proving himself did _not_ include receiving accolades. Rather, attention was the last thing he wanted. He would much rather achieve without people talking about him or to him.

Regardless, Harry now had one less friend, and Neville was firmly on Harry’s side. He tried to spend more time with Harry given the circumstances. Neville tried to hang out with Harry somewhere else than the library to give him a break from Hermione, no matter the fact that he, Neville, was feeling the strong urge to go to the library as well.

Neville insisted they play wizard chess one rainy day to help Harry think about something else. They talked about Hagrid and his Blast-Ended Skrewts, the particularly unpleasant creatures Hagrid had brought in for their class to take care of as a project for the year. Although it irked them both to hear other people complain about the Hagrid’s teaching methods, he and Harry, along with Hermione and Ron, privately agreed that Hagrid had probably not chosen the best creatures for a year-long project. For starters, it was impossible to tell if the things even had heads. They were also _killing_ each other, if that gave any indication as to their nature. Hagrid, still, insisted on keeping the project going.

Ron walked into the common room while they were talking, and Harry glanced over, only to put his head straight once more and pretend Ron wasn’t there. Ron simply didn’t move his head at all and walked quickly to the dormitories.

Neville paused for a moment in their conversation and looked at Harry. He looked both angry and sad. Neville stayed silent and allowed the boy space to think.

He stayed silent long enough that Harry looked up in confusion.

“Weren’t you saying something?”

“Ah, I can’t remember,” said Neville.

Harry returned his attention to the chess board. It took him a while, but he finally made a move.

“Checkmate.”

“Damn,” said Neville. He smiled though and when he looked up at Harry, he was smiling back.

Neville couldn’t keep himself away from the library for long. A week later, he was sitting with Hermione, Harry on the side, looking up through history books and, to his surprise, family tree maps.

He had learned at some point that Bellatrix Lestrange’s last name used to be Black. Wondering if she had any relation to Sirius, he looked into the _Updated Pure-Blood Dictionary_ to find that she was, indeed, first cousins to Sirius.

His grandmother was not one to impress upon Neville the importance of pure blood. Quite the opposite, in fact. But now that Neville knew of these connections, it was kind of hard to stop looking at the intricate family trees, searching for any names he might recognize. He knew his own family, the Longbottom’s, were a pure-blood family and wasn’t surprised to find his name in the book. However, due to his grandmother’s ideals, he hadn’t learned that he was related not only to the Black family, but the Crouches, the Lestranges, the Moody’s, the Weasley’s and the Malfoy’s. He spent as many hours in the library as he could possibly spare, pouring over history book after history book. Over the week, the librarian, Madam Pince, came to remember his name and greet him every time he entered.

“What are you reading?” asked Harry.

Neville felt almost ashamed to be looking at these things, although he wasn’t entirely sure the reason why. The moment Harry spoke, Neville quickly moved to close the book, as though he were doing something wrong.

“Umm… Just… stuff for…homework?”

Hermione looked up from her reading to look at him like he was an idiot. Harry had a similar expression on his face. Maybe it was the fact that his Gran downplayed pure bloodedness that made him almost ashamed to be looking at these texts. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Hermione was Muggle-born and he didn’t want to look like a prick. Maybe it was the fact that pure bloodedness was held in high esteem by Voldemort and his followers.

In any case, they both saw right through him. Hermione looked over his shoulder at the very visible title Neville forgot to cover.

“ _Updated Pure-Blood Directory?_ What are you doing looking at a book like that?”

Neville glanced nervously at the book and noticed his mistake.

“Um, just reading up on my family history, you know?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to figure out how to respond. Harry was looking between Neville and Hermione, with an expression that said he slightly regretted saying anything.

“Neville,” Hermione whispered, “what are you doing, really? You’ve spent the past week cooped up in here!”

“Just looking at family stuff, it- I can’t explain… you wouldn’t understand…”

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“I understand a lot more than you think, Neville.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Then tell us what’s going on!” whispered Hermione emphatically.

“… Let’s wait until we get out of the library,” said Neville.

Soon the three were walking in the hallway, and Neville tried to explain what was going on.

“That seems sort of… weird, Neville,” said Hermione after a while.

“I don’t know, Hermione, it’s just interesting to me,” said Neville.

Harry didn’t say anything. It seemed as though he was thinking hard about something.

Neville sat in his bed, staring at the same picture of his parents he’s stared at probably a hundred times before. He goes over the colors he always imagines in the picture. Blue, yellow, pink. He looked at his mother and wonders what it would have been like to be raised by her. Would he be able to send her letters about his time at Hogwarts, about the Triwizard Tournament, about his friends? It sure sounded nice to have someone to whom he felt comfortable talking about these things. For as much as he loved his grandmother, there was no way in hell he would tell her about his personal issues.

Neville did, however, write a letter to his Gran that week, asking if she could give him details of the trial of Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch Junior, as well as details about Bartemius Crouch _Senior_ , if she had any. He received a response not three days later.

_Dear Neville,_

_You are correct in assuming I was at the trial. I’m not sure what reason there is for your sudden curiosity, but if you really would like to know, here is what I remember._

_Barty Crouch Senior was indeed the man who sentenced all four of them to Azkaban, including his own son. Crouch’s wife, I remember, was crying in the stands next to him. Crouch Junior was begging with his father the whole time. I remember the kid trying to plead that he wasn’t guilty, even though he had been caught red handed with the other three in your parent’s house as it was happening… The kid even had a Dark Mark on his wrist. The three Lestranges were calm for most of the trial. The court convicted them unanimously. At the end, I remember Bellatrix Lestrange said something along the lines of “The Dark Lord will rise again, we will wait in Azkaban for him, he will reward us for our faithfulness.”_

_Mr. Crouch was quite ruthless I remember, served them right. Disowned his son right there in the court room. Mrs. Crouch fainted; I remember. I was sitting right next to her. God rest her soul; she never could believe that her son was guilty. Mr. Crouch made a personal apology to our family, soon after. Of course, it was Mr. Crouch’s fault for being too power hungry to spend time with his own son._

_Mr. Crouch was on the way to being Minister of Magic before all that. Now he’s stuck in International Magical Cooperation because of the damage to his reputation the whole trial brought him._

_If you have any other questions, feel free to send a letter. I’d like to hear more from you, you know_

_Make sure to keep up with your classes. I hear you still have trouble with Transfiguration._

_All my love,_

_Augusta Longbottom_

_P.S. I’m surprised at the announcement of Harry Potter as the fourth Triwizard champion. You are friends with him, no? Make sure you help him. He’s got quite the school year ahead of him._

Neville thought about the letter for a long time; he tried to imagine what the courtroom had looked like, how the trial had gone based on Gran’s description. He had seen the mugshots for all four of them, which were in most of the history books he read. Neville could indeed imagine the young-looking Barty Crouch Junior begging his father to be declared innocent.

It still didn’t change his mind about the man. Gran was right, no matter how much the man looked like he could be innocent, he had been caught red-handed and convicted. They deserved ruthlessness.

“Antidotes!” said Professor Snape, looking at his classroom full of Gryffindors and Slytherins. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we might be selecting someone on whom to test one…”

Snape rounded on Harry. Neville felt tension build in his chest as he looked at the two. Harry looked nervous and angry at the same time. Just before class had started, Draco, Harry and Ron got into another fight which resulted in Hermione’s teeth growing abnormally large, Goyle having large boils appear on his face, and Harry, Ron, and Malfoy getting detention for a week. Harry stared at Snape with utmost contempt while Snape looked back as though he were almost unbothered by the boy’s stare.

And then then there was a knock on the door.

Colin Creevey came in with the news that Harry had to go upstairs and take photographs.

“Very well, very well,” Snape snapped. “Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here to test your antidote.”

“Please sir – he’s got to take his things with him,” said Creevey. “All the champions –“

“Fine” Snape cut off. “Potter – take your bag and leave.”

Harry got up very quickly, and, bag in tow, exited the classroom with Creevey.

The tension in Neville’s chest had moved to his throat. Although Harry had escaped attempted poisoning, there would still be another student tested…

“As I said before, I _might_ select someone on whom to test an antidote, but, unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore forbids me from endangering the health of any student. Fortunately, there is an easy test one can perform to figure out if your antidote _would_ work in a given situation.”

All the tension had left Neville’s body, leaving a sort of hollow feeling in his chest. He could sort of understand Harry’s feelings now. Snape had made this whole show off poisoning someone just to push them to do better.

“Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville shook himself from his thoughts to find Professor Snape right in front of him.

“Let’s test your antidote first,” he said, his black eyes glancing down to his antidote and back up to Neville’s face.

Neville’s hands shook without permission as he took the flask of testing fluid.

“Now put just a drop of your antidote into the flask, and if it bubbles _lightly_ , you did it right. If it does anything else…”

Neville’s hands were shaking even harder now as he took a dropper and put one drop of his antidote into the testing liquid. Upon contact, it bubbled a little. Neville thought it wasn’t so bad. Snape smirked.

And then the bubbles were overflowing the flask. Neville tried to pick it up in a panic and the liquid burned him. He took a surprised step back, holding his hand.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Longbottom, all that help you’ve received from Granger hasn’t helped as much as one might have thought. Thomas, escort Longbottom to the hospital wing.”

Snape swiped his wand over the mess as Neville walked out, cleaning it up. Neville had been so shocked at first that he couldn’t feel the burn for a few moments after it happened. Now that he was walking silently alongside Dean, though, the pain grew worse and worse. He looked at his hand, were there was a nasty boil growing very quickly.

Neville picked up his pace.

The moment Neville walked in, Madam Pomfrey was next to him trying to gauge how bad the injury was. He told her how it had happened.

“Oh, antidotes, yes, a bad reaction happens without fail every year. Just had one earlier this week with the Ravenclaw class. Just wait right here, your hand will be good as new in a second.”

Madam Pomfrey rushed off and Neville sat down on a free bed.

At this point, Neville could barely talk he was grimacing so hard. He held his hand and tried fruitlessly to make the pain go away.

“Right here, right here,” said Madam Pomfrey, rushing over to Neville with a bottle full of clear liquid. She poured it over the wound. There was a stinging sensation, Neville flinched, but slowly the pain began to ebb, and he saw the spot on his finger slowly turn back to normal.

“Essence of dittany. Very useful, that. I should talk to Severus about getting his own bottle. The pain should be subsiding, you can probably go ahead and return to the classroom.”

Neville returned to the classroom and waited for everyone else to test their antidotes. This time, no one was dumb enough to try and touch the flask or the liquid coming out of it.

When Neville returned to the common room that afternoon, Harry was already there, sitting in front of the fire and looking rather unhappy.

Neville approached gently. “You okay?”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

Neville glanced around the room. “Is Hermione not back yet?”

Harry shrugged again. “No… but I’ve got a letter from Sirius, he's going to meet us at Hogsmeade the next time we go."


End file.
